


This Old Dog Knows a Few Tricks

by Naner



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Handcuffs, Insecure robots having sex, Short & Sweet, a bit of rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 21:06:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13772568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naner/pseuds/Naner
Summary: You and Nick Valentine have been playfully flirting for months now. You're in a relationship but you both want more. Now it's time to expose yourself to the dirty detective and have some real fun.





	This Old Dog Knows a Few Tricks

You encouraged him for the better half of an entire hour, but once again, he asks you if this is really, _truly_ okay, if you’re sure, this doesn’t have to happen, he doesn’t want to make you feel forced into it.

And as he hears the words aloud, his self-doubt spikes and he begins to release your hand ever so gently. You catch it with yours and give it a reassuring squeeze. You don’t mind the bare metal - it’s comforting to you.

With a gentle pull, you bring the synth back close, standing on your tip-toes and whispering encouragements against his synthetic neck. With one hand, you briefly trace the brim of his hat before attempting to remove it, but he stops you, muttering something about looking more human and suddenly you’ve just about had it with the “vulnerable human” spiel and yank the hat off his head.

You say that yes, you’re human, and that he’s not - and that it’s _okay_ . You’re human and he’s programmed, so _what_? All those memories of the old Nick - the one that you never knew and _didn’t_ fall in love with - have made the actual Nick a good detective with an upright sense of morals. How many times did you have to say you loved _him_ before he realized he was talking about himself and not some dead cop from back in your day?

He freezes, those orange, glowing eyes locked on you. Such sad eyes for a synth. Eyes that had lived through so much pain and agony. Through fleeting good moments and wonderful victories.

You’ve done a little more than just hand holding at this point. Kisses here and there. A nice slow dance to some Ella Fitzgerald on more peaceful nights in your settlement. You’d flirt. He’d call you cheesy names like ‘doll’ and 'sweetheart', but you told him to get more creative with it. Then you got stuck with the nickname ‘Dorothy’ when you called him ‘Tin Man’ in a heated, but playful, spat. You always knew what sarcastic droll wit fell from your lips would come back and bite you.

A moment passes, and his lack of response becomes worrying, but you _know_ Nick. He likes to overthink. Even after the adventures you’ve had, the old synth still can’t believe a Vaultie like you wants an antique like him. You think it’s funny that he cares so much about measuring up to your ex-husband. Nate was not a big romantic type of guy, never was. You had married him for convenience and safety. So you could finish your degree without mockery. It was never about love.

When you fell in love with Nick Valentine, you knew that this was special. This was what the younger you had wanted when she read all those silly fairytales and watched old movies. You dreamt of one day finding your soulmate.

Now, you never had imagined that to be the handsome, sarcastic synthetic man that was holding you so tight currently, but… This was _better_ than what those old stories talked about.

You blink and shake your head. You offer his hat back to him, holding it out sheepishly. There’s a small stutter as you apologize and tell him that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to do anything. There should be a mutual desire for pleasure if you two dive into this.

The detective doesn’t respond, but his head gives a little twitch and suddenly he’s moving again. His mouth opens as if to speak, then his entire body shifts slightly. Staring at the floor, he begins to hum. It’s low, soft sort of hum that he’s let you hear every once in awhile. Mostly on the nights when you’re too scared to sleep and he’s playing lookout. It’s the sort of thing that makes his whole body rumble and you can feel it against you.

Then without warning, his head tilts just so, angled in such a way that you can see the lights in his eyes dim somewhat. He glances down at the hat and, with one smooth movement, takes it from your hands and deposits it on the floor. Nick studies you up and down, slowly, quietly like he was pouring over a case file before he pushes you back against the wall of his office. His mouth is millimeters from yours and that’s when you see him smile. The corners of his face that are cracked and broken seem to look like laugh lines with his current expression. Your heart is pounding in your chest. God, you love that smile.

Suddenly, he’s moved and you didn’t see, he has you gently pinned against the wall with your arms over your head. His body is heavy and unyielding through his suit except where a particular warmth springs from his chest cavity that feels unusually softer than the rest of him. His cracked lips are parted and pressed on your own now, begging for you to join them in a dance. You can taste the tang of his tongue prodding for permission and you give it in surprise after you feel him grind against your hips. You never knew the sleuth had it in him to be this dirty.

He holds you that way for a while, kissing, pressing, _grinding_. It’s enough to drive you insane with need, and it’s not long before you’re squirming beneath him, fighting for control of your arms again, aching to touch him and to have him touch you in so many places, but he’s set his own, maddening pace. Each time the detective stops to give you a breath of air, he slips down and plants kisses up and down your neck, and just your neck, and you need **_more_**. The next time he does this, you manage to whimper that he’s being a horrific _tease_. You can see him smile at your whining, eyes locked on you carefully.

He’s worked his way down to the base of your neck again, and you suddenly feel a bite. You can’t help but audibly gasp in pleasure as the bite turns into sucking.

“Oh **_Nick_ ** ,” you practically purr. “Who knew you could be so downright _dirty…_ ”

You hear him chuckle as soon as your skin is free from his mouth. He’s smirking up at you quite deviously, a sudden shiver shooting down your spine. Maybe you underestimated the old man.

“I know I am. But if you can’t tell…” He pulls away slightly, some amusement plain on his face, and you realize that there is the impressive _attention_ pressed between your legs. “I’m a _little_ worked up myself, doll.”

 “I never thought the Institute, y’know, _equipped_ you so well,” you admit bashfully.

 “Ya figured it was a Ken doll situation, huh?” Nick smirked. “Well, I might be one of the only models with it. Who knows? Might not work entirely like a human’s, but, uh, it _gets the job done_.”

You give him a small smile. He returns the gesture briefly, a flash of his shyer self, before he starts up again. He rearranges his arms so that one hand continues to hold your own, but the other is now in motion and finds entertainment in your breasts. With some deftly maneuvers beneath your top and bra, you feel shivers of ecstasy as his thumb runs over your nipples. The synth continues to worry at your mouth and neck, sucking hard - occasionally breaking contact for a couple of smarmy comments.

He briefly pauses, removing his hand from your breast and arms before he’s shuffling to take off his coat. It falls to the floor, and you haven’t noticed that in his hands are his trusty pair of handcuffs until you hear the click and feel the cold bite of metal. You whine but he hushes you with a few tender kisses.

“I know you like it,” he teases. “You like it when I use ‘em on the bad guys and you always squirm when I’m fiddling with them.”

“Do _not_ ,” comes the childish retort from you.

Nick clicks his tongue to chide you and simply tightens the handcuffs. Your arms are a little sore, but they still fall naturally into place atop his broad shoulders. With a rough upwards push, he hikes you up against the wall easily and, without hesitation, you wrap your legs around his waist, beyond grateful for wearing a skirt today. And, erm, no underwear. You kinda knew at least some foreplay was coming.

He looks like he’s finally going to give in as he holds you up with one arm, the other moving down to undo his pants; an audible sigh of relief mixes with the sound of a zipper being pulled down as you feel a distinctly metal sensation press hard against your entrance. Your hips arc into the touch and he can’t help but respond in kind. Damn it you’re both so close, why won’t he just _take_ you?

You look up, startled as though you’d said it out loud. He’s watching you now, orange eyes unwavering as you feel him fingering, adjusting you ever _so_ slightly and then there’s a push - and your wet entrance resists him, but he doesn’t ask if he should try again, he simply does.

And for one moment, you feel a strong discomfort before your body finally gives into what you wanted.

The detective takes it slow, checking and judging your limits so he doesn’t break you. Despite seeming mostly human, you both have to stop and realize that he has more power than you imagine. His old frame might be creaking sometimes but Nick is still twice as strong as most of your other traveling companions.

But then he adjusts himself a little and suddenly you can’t form words but you’re clutching him for dear life, fingers splayed on his back because you can’t get him close enough. He’s soon pulling you off the wall, crushing you to himself, that desperate need finally being satisfied beyond anything either of you could have imagined. His grunts gains soft words like ‘damn’ and your name. He moves steadily and tries not to moan too loudly. That piston works itself deep inside you and then out again, leaving you empty for only a half a second, _too_ long, before thrusting upwards and filling you again.

Before long, he moves the both of you to his nearby bed. He ends up on top. His strokes are long and forceful and his kissing returns with a vengeance. Marks are already littering your neck that will be properly showed off later. You beg for him to make more but he scolds you gingerly for being greedy.

You’re not sure how long it’s been - not that you particularly care; his shifting rhythm keeps you off balance, and all of it feels so damn _good_. Even the bloody lip from a bite gone awry (your mistake) and the slight bruising around your thighs hurt quite sweetly in the heat of the moment. His dress shirt and tie had also come off some while ago, revealing the muted grey skin beneath that you hadn’t hesitated in touching and exploring.

And all too soon, you find yourself squirming from the heat building in the pit of your stomach and you can’t help yourself. You whimper that you need a release, God, _please_ . And almost immediately, his hands find your waist and you didn’t think it’d be possible but somehow he readjusts and thrusts himself inside you just so. That budding warmth suddenly comes to a head and you’re crying out, shivering, utterly _helpless_ as he hums softly and rides the waves of your orgasm.

A short while later, you lay against the bed, panting and murmuring not-quite-words because everything in your head is jumbled. You manage a few curses and a few ‘hot damns’ at him, blinking in disbelief. The detective now resting beside you chuckles and buries his head into the crevice of your neck for a moment, releasing what felt like steam against your already warm skin. The humming quiets down, and all is near silent for several moments.

However, a question still hangs in the air. You look at him, curious. One glance and it’s obvious that his body is still thrumming with energy: he needs a release, too.

"Oh Nick, you know you aren’t getting away with just pleasuring _me_ , right?” you tease.

Recalling earlier, you run a couple of fingers across his chest, circling where you know his circuits connect. You press a gentle kiss on his lips, then reach up to trace his plated curves of his neck, running back down the length of his body to rest heavily around his member, a thing that almost vibrates in your hand and Nick’s eyes close as his head tilts back against the wall, shuddering.

“Buckle up, fella, you’re in for a _bumpy_ ride.”

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Nick Valentine or anything Bethesda related. I'm just salty we never get a romance option for Nick.


End file.
